


A Little Grim

by rosyknight



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Character Development, Crossing Timelines, Dragons, Enemies to Friends, Epic Battles, F/F, Five Stages of Grief, Forests, Friends to Lovers, Gen, King Arthur story dynamics, M/M, Magic, Medieval, Mutual Pining, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 15:32:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosyknight/pseuds/rosyknight
Summary: A young queen runs for her life through a deadly forest.





	A Little Grim

It's cold and dismal under the canopy of trees. Their branches gnarl and leak murky sludge that falls in puddles on the forest floor. Deep greens and endless blacks expand as gaps in the trees, hiding winding paths and sheltering beasts. _Beasts_ \-- they're _everywhere_. 

QUEEN RUTH MAUDE is lost. Her skin is frozen and the short curls of her hair clasp around the nape of her neck. She's choking herself under the hug of her arms-- her head numb and throbbing, lodged between her legs, feet slick against muddy leaves. Every time a mosquito or animal crosses her path, her limbs lock and her heart flatlines. But besides the occasional whispering wind, howling animal, or drip of rainwater, the forest sits still. 

The silence is _suffocating_. 

A brush of something against Ruth's shoulder pushes her to action. She unravels from her cocoon and slips, trying to just get _away_ from the hand. 

Voices chase her as she retreats, wrapping around her throat and becoming weights on her wrists and ankles. She struggles, heart pumping in her head, and screams when her foot catches on a sliver of root. The weights threaten to drag her backwards and then she'll be at the mercy of the executioner-- 

Ruth shoves forwards and cuts her chin on something-- then she's off again. Running under sloping branches decorated with cobwebs and moss, over rocks and vast footprints (certainly too big for any animal she's ever encountered), leaping across dead streams. Each puddle and stream Ruth crosses reflects the same horror back to her: drying blood smeared across the front of her nightgown, engraved between her fingernails and the ridges in her palms. Ruth never fails to risk a glance downwards, anxious of what is to be found, but only discovers her brown skin normal. 

A leaf pile catches Ruth's attention and she diverts to it. Three massive trees form a semi-circle around the pile, their branches losing leaves as Ruth fights to breathe right again. The leaves fall with uneven grace onto the ground, stuck together by mud, and are hidden by the trees' trunks. 

Ruth does not allow herself to slow with hesitation or indecision. She dives into the pile and shrinks into a ball, eyes clenched and fingers digging into her knees. 

The voices do not return. The hand does not return. In their departure is left an evil energy, drifting as mist throughout the forest. 

This evil is not from Noxoro: not the boys who taunted her, the Knights who saw her wrongdoing, and not the strange evil that hid behind Ruth's curtains those weeks ago, waiting in the night and emerging to do her harm. Those evils are conniving in Noxoro, where Ruth has purged herself from. 

No, this evil is archaic and birthed from the forest. It has hid under rocks, traveled through streams, danced across treetops before the name Noxoro was even uttered. Ruth has rediscovered this passionate energy, and now she's in a leaf pile, calling her breath back to her. 

Ruth relapses the night's events: 

She's in the castle, forgotten under bedsheets and lost in a deep slumber…

A door shuts, then a familiar hand covers her mouth, the other snatches the back of her throat. They drag her up, throw her into a corner. A dagger, red and obtrusive, edge slashing into her neck-- until she crawls under their stance, then is grabbed by her ankles and is overcome by, by _pain_. Ruth, with ridged movements, brings her hand to the wound, trying to recount what happened next. Her memory is stained with the pain: unlike anything she's met before, aching and profound, intrusive, exploding up her leg and digging into her bones. It's red, in every vibrancy, and then she's lost once more. 

And awakes, wrapped like a snake around the intruder's leg. They're shaking it fervently and attempting to pry her fingers from deep within their calf. The blade's between their teeth as strings of curses escape from the corner of their mouth. Ruth pictures their eyes, golden slits behind a thick red cloak, a contrast between the rest of their black attire. Her own fear shot back to her when their eyes met hers and then-- 

Unpleasant knocks berate the bedroom door, accompanied by shouts and more heavy footsteps. Voices come from far away, somewhere down the hall, and then three short thuds. Murmurs and silence. The intruder's moved Ruth to the window by now, their hand tight around her mouth and other arm around her stomach, close to their own. There's no wind outside and few cricket chirps; only the soft hum of fireflies and silky glow of the moonlight the midnight air. 

They climb down by way of spears lodged into the gray stone of Ruth's tower. She remembers being angry with herself for choosing a room so high up and away from other sections of the castle. If help were to come to her, it'd have to travel through cavernous hallways and up several sets of stairs, twisting and leading to more hallways before ending at a large wooden door. She's weak in the intruder's arms, fearful and preparing to fight this battle alone.

More voices shout from below. With nothing such as doubt in their mind, the intruder lets go. Ruth feels the heat of their fabric clenched in her hands, the slope of their back when she freed herself from their hold. Her ears hurt now as she hears the scream and pulse of her heart growing sharper and agonizing. Believing them sure to die once they pierced the tips of the knights' blades pointed upwards at them, Ruth ran through every emotion expected of one about to die. 

But-- the intruder slowed against the stone, pulled a blade from thin air and pinned Ruth to the circular wall by the neck of her nightgown. They flipped forward, landing by kicking a knight in the face, creating a horrible cracking noise. Ruth cringes now, remembering the pain she felt for them. Then the intruder splayed blades from their palms and kicked several guards from their stance by sliding between their legs and-- touching their ankles? Ruth remembers their gloved hands wrapping around ankles, then the guard in question collapsing in a heap, cradling their legs to their body. The intruder turns to the remaining guards, and moonlight illuminates their eyes, gold surrounded by pulsing red veins. 

The remainder of the fight seemed trivial to them, as if lifting a finger against the knights was already too much effort. Ruth remembers anger and confusion, wondering how someone could disarm the people sworn to protect her with not even a complete weapon, only the blades. Adept swiftness and blade-work, and other tactics that only led to more confusion: the intruder raising their hands palm-side up near a knight, who chokes as blood pours from their mouth; a knight white as a sheet after the intruder formed a fist feet away from them, their skin pruning and veins sculpted against their skin; another knight falling over with body-racking chills, skin and lips blue and eyes trailing upwards. 

Ruth urges her memory further back, to a time when her parents ruled Noxoro with steady, beating hearts. 

The intruder came at night, but through a window, and tried to keep Ruth inside her room rather than rushing her outside. Voices drew quicker to her door and the pounding awakened dust from the floorboards. When the door bust down, knights flooded the room and the intruder's attention fled from Ruth. They fought, Ruth was swiftly led to another room, her parents gushing over her. Screams from high in the castle, silence. Then-- the door burst open and knives shot from the darkness-- candlelight brought the intruder into focus, golden eyes filled with something akin to embarrassment and rage. Ruth's father put forth his dual blades and her mother produced a ruby sword as the intruder circled their targets. 

Ruth remembers the dark corner of the room, the dig of her nails into her skin, as she's doing now, reliving such a tragedy again. Her father becomes a whirlwind of sleek blades and her mother a fortress: slim body like solid rock against the castle floor, blade horizontal in front of her nose and eyes focused, a calm radiating through them. The pair touch arms for less than a second and share a realization before turning to the intruder. 

"Prusséian! Show yourself!" her mother says. 

A figure leaps from the side, blades pointed right at THE KING's neck. He spins and slashes at the intruder, only to have them jump above the blade; THE QUEEN cuts vertical as the intruder leaps backwards. The King is ruthless in his efforts: headstrong and with the energy of a full army, following the intruder with each step. They can't find time to counterattack for they are occupied dodging twin blades, encrusted with ocean sapphires and sharp to the touch. The Queen, after losing her ruby sword, wraps her drooping sleeves around her fisted hands, and surges toward the intruder. She releases all her power through her fist and into their face, arm, stomach… Elegance sweats from her core and transforms to blunt lines as her arms punch out and legs flip and contort her body around the intruder. 

The intruder is stealthy and quick, feet never ceasing to leap right out of harm's way. They serve several witty attacks themselves in the strife but fall under the pure strength, resilience, and consistency from the duo. 

Ruth rises during what must be the end of the fight. The intruder nurses a bloody arm and limp; her own parents' injuries are far more manageable. 

"Throw down your weapons," her father says through muffled laughter. "The fight is ours now." 

The banquet doors gust open to reveal knights at the ready. Candlelight reflects off pristine tips and armor as they bend their knees and point their lances outwards. The King holds a hand out and says, "Hold. Let's hear what the _Prusséian_ has to say for himself!" 

He speaks _Prusséian_ as if poison lined the word and was hurting his tongue. A murmur passes through the knights and a few raise their spears in anticipation. Cruel words pass between their lips and stain the intruder's cloth, Ruth notices. She remembers his eyes in the moment, how conflicted and familiar to the taunts they seemed. 

"My daughter," The Queen says, walking to Ruth and touching her shoulders. She crouches and cradles a cheek in her hand, soft gaze looking her over. "Are you alright?" 

Ruth nods. Her mother smiles and urges Ruth to return to her chambers, sleep away the night. The situation here would soon be no longer. Her father watches her reach a knight and commands him to return Ruth safely, grinning at his daughter and wishing her sweet dreams, that they would speak more at dawn.

Ruth remembers feeling eyes at the back of her head. She spots the intruder from the corner of her eye and furrows her brows: he is shaking disgustedly, hands clenched tightly around his blades as blood seeps from the wounds. He's kneeling and seems to not hear the accusations thrown at him by the King until-- 

The air drops in the room and Ruth shudders as ice crawls from _somewhere_. The knights freeze in their armor, her parents scream and lunge at the intruder with renewed energy, going crazy with the effort of not heeding the frost. Ruth swings her head and searches for the source of the cold. She collapses as her veins seize up, becoming stone-like and heavy in her body. Her nervous system becomes more of an uncomfortable weight in her body than it should be. 

The intruder flings his hands from his chest, outward and dripping blood. And suddenly--

Everything is _red_. An ugly red that _drowns_ and the blood from his hands stabs the knights under their helmets, through their necks. Some fall and Ruth's parents eyes are white and so _big_ it's uncanny. They look like different people, unfamiliar to their own daughter. One second Ruth's curling into herself and then she's rushing for her parents, recognizing the clench of her throat but unable to hear the scream due to blood rushing through her ears like a tsunami. 

One second the King and Queen are shaking with the effort of standing up and then they are a heap of mass on the floor. 

One second she's seeing them as irrevocably powerful, untouchable, mountainous; then they're gasping for breath at the intruder's feet. Her eyes meet her mother's and the veins are too _alive_ , and then they're screaming at Ruth to flee and her father's gone quiet, still. She's screaming in her own head and then the air is fleeing from around her. Footsteps come from behind and more knights arrive. They are vicious and bring forth a chaotic energy, determination shed to the intruder among heartbreak. They begin to fight like the moon itself has been snatched from the heavens.

An ugly howl comes from the intruder as a lance pierces his calf. He turns and-- black, everywhere. Darkness and silence and nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. 

There's…. It's absolute silence… Lonely and intimate…. Swallowing and holding in its warm mouth, strange… 

Ruth awakes with a huge gasp and lunges from the floor. Her chest is cold and body twitching and the battle is continuing still. 

The intruder's rushing upstairs, flanked by a whole army of knights. Armor grabs her elbow and a knight is there; Ruth knows they make eye contact, but she still can't see, somehow. Her vision is wet? And, oh, she's sobbing, and the knight carries her and orders several others to follow them. They're leaving the room and Ruth claws at their back, turning herself around to find her parent's, to see where they've taken the fight to, if they're following their soldiers up the stairs. 

There's shushing and Ruth certainly doesn't want that right now, so she wrenches out of their grasp and catches a hint of her mother-- dark hair splayed along the floor, unmoving. A knight blocks her path and speaks to the other and then they're moving quicker upstairs, to her room. 

A new light pulses throughout her body and glows beneath her skin. It's unfamiliar but steady, and Ruth can't stand it. She begs to jump out of her own skin, scream and fight at the knights. Her breathing is raucous and unbearable and voices are _everywhere_ , the knights' voices loud and heavy with something. The castle's lavish walls, adorned with purple and golden cloths and searing candleflames that are _garish_ , how did she not realize before?

This hasn't happened, she's dreaming, she's dreaming--

"Your Majesty!" 

Ruth rushes to the present. She's in a cold sweat and panting, muddy leaves stuck to her arms and legs. Her head aches and she blinks in the all too familiar darkness and wills her tears away. The delicate outline of leaves becomes discernable and her thin fingers soon forget numbness as night persists around her. Faint buzzing, chirping, the muffled glow of fireflies, leaves blowing and life continuing in the forest. Water still drips from high-hanging moss and the air is thick in and surrounding the leaf pile. 

The voice comes again, this time closer: "Your Majesty! Ruth Maude!" 

Another voice says, "Ruth! Are you out there? Can you hear us?"

Curiosity overpowers dread as Ruth peeks out from a crack between the leaves. Two knights mounted on horses ride into view. They stop a few feet from Ruth's pile, close enough for her to overhear their conversation. 

"Should we split up?" the woman says. She's fiddling with the reins of her scarlet horse, looping them around her hands as she turns to her partner, forehead tense. 

The man sighs. "I'm not sure. How much forest is there to cover exactly?" 

"Well, considering we're the only detachment they sent out here, the entire thing. I don't believe she'd travel far, though. It's still night and she's got to be tired by now. Maybe we should join the others in the villages? She's more likely to have stayed around there than risk anything out here."

"But we saw her run here, Gen." 

The woman, Gen, throws her hands into the air. "Right! Then where is she, Percy, hmm? We've been searching for hours--" 

"And will for hours to come. The kingdom was already tense, what with having to put a 10-year-old on the throne. And now the same thing's happened _again_. Do you know how embarrassing that is for us? Prussé's laughing their asses off over brew and a fresh plate of our dead reputation. They're laughing at us, Gen. Laughing." 

"Maybe they'll choke," she shrugs. 

Percy shakes his head, "No, their necks are too thick. Do you believe they work out more than us? I bet they have their own personal training field, complete with targets painted with hyper-realistic portraits of our faces and gold towels to wipe the gold sweat off their gold faces." 

"We have our own personal training field, Percy. And I doubt they're hiding Rumpelstiltskin in their basement to pump out gold whenever they please. And! We’re wearing _gold_ armor, you idiot." 

Percy looks down at himself, then smiles sheepishly to Gen. "I apologize. My nerves are affray and I fear we may cross into Prusséian territory. There's been no definite borders drawn out here, that's for sure." 

His hair is gold too, Ruth notices, and uncovered by a helmet. It ends somewhere around his chin and is curled from the humidity of the forest. He glides his fingers through it and frowns when it tangles immediately. Gen's hair is sturdy and black, sitting high on her head. Without her helmet, only a few stray hairs can hide her forehead, which takes up half her face. Angular eyes trail along the thick trees, catching on hidden crevices and hanging moss. Displeasure crosses her face and she turns to her partner.

"We should move on, then. I'd rather not quarrel with Prussé tonight. Also - this place gives me the creeps." 

Gen draws her reins and starts moving but Percy rests a hand on her shoulder before she can get far. "Wait. Do you know if they rid Noxoro of that thief?" 

"I overheard they found him after they found-- they found that, those knights--" 

Percy's face grows dark at the mention of what Ruth witnessed: the intruder, now thief, fighting outside her room. Did he kill them? 

"Yes, I saw that. Truly a deep loss." 

The Knights sit in silence for a few moments.

"You saw the Archbishop. The church is a complete wreck, worse than after the King and Queen's death. And we weren't _there_ , Gen. We were off fighting for god knows what." His brows furrow and mouth downturns, eyes wide and looking in the distance, then at Gen. "We're sent off to Prussé's territory to punish them because--" 

"Because of the murders, you know that. Three people were killed last week alone, found dead with no wounds or poison in their veins. Now what could kill someone without a person touching them?" 

Shock rolls down Ruth's body. Dead without someone actually hurting them. It must be-- 

"Magic. Yes, yes I know." Percy waves a hand flippantly. "But there is no _proof_ it was Prussé, or that it was even _magic_. No one has ever been found near the bodies, no magical residue, no, no _fairy dust_ in the air--" 

Gen snorts. "That's an old wives tale, Percy. You know magic doesn't leave residue, much less fairy dust. It's the user who reaps the side-effects. Shall I read you Excalibur's book once more?"

"Hey! My illiteracy does not care for your pity. Anyway, it seems like they were killed from within, hence the idea of magic. But you know as well as I that magic users have not been permitted in Noxoro for _centuries_."

Gen turns her horse towards Percy. "Just because they haven't been permitted doesn't mean they're not here."

Percy eyes go wide and he throws his head back. "Great. Great! _Apparently_ we're being deceived on all fronts. Why don't Prussé's knights just fall from the trees and stab us right now, huh? Why don't we just march ourselves right to their castle and throw ourselves in their stocks? Why not just scream from the rooftops every one of Noxoro's secrets, huh Gen? Suddenly, I can't think of one reason why not! Is that just me? Is it? Gen?" 

"Let me rephrase," Gen rolls her eyes and nudges Percy's horse. "Just because they haven't been permitted in Noxoro doesn't mean they're not there, but it also don't automatically mean every single goddamn person in the kingdom is a cursed conspiring against us. Look, I know you're stressed. I'm stressed too! This calm façade is only so there'll be one reasonable person in between us." 

Percy frowns. "I'm reasonable!" 

A pause. 

"Okay, I admit that I'm not in my most tranquil state." Percy hops off his horse and begins to stretch, groaning as his armor creaks under him. "My point is, we weren't in Noxoro when that man attacked. _Twice_ we weren't in Noxoro. And now we're here, so we've got to make it count. I'm not abandoning anyone yet, least of all my morale." 

Gen gives a warm smile. "You never do." 

Ruth's missing something, she knows it. An unspoken conversation flows between them, as does a deer. Both horses overreact and Gen works to steady her reins; she slips downward and then settles back in place as her green undercoat and gold chestplate catch on the horse's fur. Percy, however, scrambles for his horse's reins, the black steed doing everything in its power to oppose the man. Their shouts of frustration clash as each opponent struggles: Percy to reclaim power and the horse to flee. 

In the end, Percy's mounted and only has a few twigs stuck in his hair. Gen's not bashful in her humor, throwing raucous and high laughs in Percy's face. He looks less than amused. 

"Har har har. Can we get out of this area, now, please? I'm starting to see the horror in this place." 

"I don't find your clumsiness something to fear. But if you're afraid of a little deer, then we better get moving. We've got a lot of ground to cover." 

The Knights groan in unison.

"Why couldn't we have been stuck looking for the thief, like the other detachment? At least they're allowed to peruse the kingdom. All we have is--" a branch falls from above, leaves landing with a wet _smack_ on Percy's head. " _OW!_ All _we_ have are wet sticks! Why did we have to see the Queen run here! And if only she'd thought to head somewhere else in the village…" 

Gen moves closer and begins to pick leaves from his hair, like a gorilla to another. "You should be nicer to this place, seriously. You've heard all the creepy legends, the _true_ horror stories. I know you absolutely _love_ people talking about you in passing, but do you truly want to become just another lost knight?" 

A moonbeam emerges onto the pair. Ruth's breath leaves, a new truth rushing forth. The moonlight on the Knights' armor: gleaming, golden, a stark gem lost against a backdrop of darkness. Their _armor_. Her father spoke of the duo with his highest regards, of their quests and the grand satisfaction they'd brought him. THE GOLD PLATES, he dubbed them, after a knight from centuries ago who'd lost himself in these very woods. Her father's words rush at her, tales of the Knight's selflessness in battle and raw power, a perfect duo. GOJOU GEN and FREDERICK PERCEVAL, Noxoro's elite team of knights. 

And they've been tasked with finding the lost queen. 

The Knights will find her, she's sure, and the beat of her heart grows unsteady and drifts, its noise echoing in the forest. With closed eyes come thoughts of the escaped thief, of his route of travel back to the neighboring kingdom of Prussé. His quickest route is in the grounds of where she hides now and with her next breath comes a choice. A choice, a luxury stolen from her by her parent's death and by the Church, who kept her reined in as if she had four legs and a mane. The thief erupted these chains of events, something as dark and dangerous as lava seeping into Ruth's life. 

She _loathes_ him. But what would come of her if she were to lay like a beast caught in a trap, waiting for him to come upon her? Or would she have a better fate with the Knights, whom her father trusted with his life? Could they be saviors for her, too? 

No, Ruth concludes. Their goal is to deliver her to Noxoro, right where the thief can hurt her again. His attacks on the castle were without fault and obstacles; Ruth remembers the red cloak he'd hidden under a few hours ago, and how she'd spent lazy afternoons helping her mother gather ripe berries from their garden, holding the fruit in the very same cloak. How he'd stolen his past and present from her! Her future will be secure, she ascertains. Why, who is anyone to take her future away! 

Her mother and father fought him in their last moments with anticipation and cheer. Her mother's grace and potency and her father's unpitying strength seep from the three trees' roots and throughout Ruth, filling her with a renewed energy. New life, new motivation breaths in her lungs, pools in her stomach, flows from her lips. Their lives won't have been snatched without purpose; Ruth wills herself to find this man and, and--

And beat him? No, best to stay away. Then how will she reconcile her parents death, the kingdom's disorder, as a Queen? What actions should a Queen pursue? 

"Aha!" Percy says, face filled with triumph. He's standing over the leaf pile, a stack of evergreens clutched in one hand as the other points at her. "See, Gen? It _is_ big enough for her! This is like that incident in Osaka, when those samurai ambushed us from that hay pile-- OW!" 

Instinct floods Ruth and she kicks out, foot hitting Percy right in the nose. He falls back with a short yelp, gloved hand sheltering his nose before he's reaching for Ruth once more. 

Ruth scrambles back and kicks unrestrained. Hands-- hands grabbing her nightgown at night, throwing her from a window, slashing out blood to her parents-- grab her armpits from behind and haul her up. Turning her head reveals Gen, grinning. 

"Your Majesty, we mean you no harm. Please allow us to escort you to the castle-- HEY!" Gen gasps as Ruth flips herself around so she's sitting with her legs between Gen's head. Then she gives an awkward jump down and turns to run, but Percy's blocking her path. His nose is red and he sniffs, making to grab Ruth around her midsection. 

Ruth shrieks and dives between his legs, her signature move which her mother taught her. She'd claimed children would be underestimated in a fight and taught Ruth to see advantages from her youth. Since all adults tower over her, sneaking between their legs is an obvious and simple way to avoid any type of confrontation. 

But when fighting someone your own age, as with the boys from earlier in the night… 

Ruth crushes the urge to contemplate her previous actions after she'd escaped the thief, her unjust reaction boiling over from distress-- she crushes it into nothing and shoves it down her throat and to her gut, where it sits and festers and fades. 

Percy grabs her nightgown and pulls her to her feet. 

"Very nice!" Gen says.

Percy looks fondly at her, almost like he's seeing someone else. "Yes, very good. I used to train kids, back when you were only an infant. That move… that move they mastered with ease. But, unfortunately, there comes a time when battle is less about evasion and more about proving a point." 

"Literally, sometimes," Gen grins. "Your Majesty, we wish you no harm. If you'd just come with us--" 

Tension tightens Ruth's limbs and jaw, her eyes furrowed and tears begging to slip. These knights, they need to leave…

"Hey, okay," Percy says, the same time Gen says, "Percy!"

The Knights regard each other for a moment, speaking with their eyes once again. 

"Alright, how about this?" Percy says, backing up slowly with upturned hands. Gen mirrors him, feet sliding over muddy leaves. 

A pause as Ruth regards both knights. They seem unconvinced to move towards her, and after less than no consideration, Ruth beelines for the horses. After thumping Gen's on its rear, she throws herself to the saddle and tries not to bite her tongue under the spring and speed of the horse. Mud and roots whack her toes as her right foot drags on the forest floor and, with the strength of a well-graced knight and the appearance of a drunk collapsing to a table, throws herself fully on the animal. 

"Percy!" A sound of distress shouts from an increasing distance behind her. 

"What, I thought that would work!" 

"In what kingdom, Percy! In _what_ kingdom?" 

"Well _I'm sorry_ for trying to do my job…" 

Ruth laughs clearly and a weight rises from her chest. The stray tears, she wipes from her eyes; she sighs and hugs the horse's neck, lying across the saddle and enjoying the thrill of wind combing her hair, gnats grazing her cheeks, and green leaves passing, tickling her calves and forearms. Great! Now with the Knights left behind--

The horse launches to its rear hooves and whinnies straight in Ruth's ear. Noncompliant in obeying its reins, it backpedals and leaves Ruth in the face of an enormous wolf: twice the size of both horses with a crooked nose, twigs and crumbling bones looped into its fur, moon-sized paws with waxing and waning claws, all obscured under matted fur, darker than pomegranates. It's eyes correspond to her own in their simplicity and serve as the most unsettling feature of the creature. 

The antechamber of her castle encircles Ruth and suddenly she's there once more, frozen in the face of one with such darkness and fright. She's trembling and the horse is shooting to where they'd abandoned the Knights. Lost between two uncertainties, two choices that Ruth struggles to find a favorable future in. 

Return to the castle and sit in anxiousness for the thief, or succumb to the wolf? 

The Knights cross their path, both on Percy's black horse. Confusion circles between them when they make to follow Ruth, urging the horse to match Ruth's speed. 

"There's--" she begins, but the wolf jumps through a tree line and slashes at her horse. Ruth screams and loses her grip on the reins, her back pounding on roots and mud. 

Ringing, everything's ringing, and now Gen's off the horse and rushing to her. Concern, more confusion, blurred together. Her head isn't being beaten against the ground consistently, but it sure does feel that way. Watching Gen grows difficult, almost unbearable, and Ruth allows her eyes to slip closed for only a second. Black. Darkness. Sleep… 

Life shoots into view and-- oh, Gen's shaking her shoulder. The air's ringing again, but why? And Percy's mouth is moving. He's pointing with a bow to messy claw marks, thick and profound in a tree trunk. Quick, Gen's at his side, slipping twin swords from her waist. They're searching fervently, brows furrowed and mouth tight, bodies back-to-back with raised weapons. Percy arranges an arrow through his bow, studying the forest by the bowstring. Gen's swords are hinted with amber flames, vivid and electric in the cool night. The wolf emerges from their left, crystal eyes encompassing and gaze perilous. 

Words are troublesome. Ruth opens her mouth with a warning on the tip of her tongue, until something closes around the words, trapping them inside. She raises a fist to beat the ground: another arm loops through hers and then she's being dragged into the foliage, carved leaves pricking any open skin. The Knights and wolf disappear behind a curtain of green as Ruth's limbs drag along the ground, heavy with the weight of the night. Moonlight behind a confusing mop of hair retreat from her view as Ruth's mind crawls into darkness…

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! please leave a comment and tell me what you think! :)


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